Moriarty's Plan
by Sherlock Holmes of 221B
Summary: After the pool scene, Jim Moriarty is dead set on teaching Sherlock who he is dealing with. He will burn the heart out of him and finish the game, exploiting the emotions that he knows the detective has. (T for mentions of drugs) SEQUEL PUBLISHED: IOU A Recovery, Sherlock /s/10190039/1/IOU-A-Recovery-Sherlock
1. Prologue

Moriarty's Plan

Prologue

Moriarty Enjoys The Game

**_*I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal.*_**

Jim was sitting at his table in his lovely home. He smiled to himself, lost in thought. He mulled over the day's event in his mind. He'd revealed to his favorite detective who he was. The look of surprise on his face when he thought that it had been the doctor who was playing games with him had been priceless. Then when Jim came out to Sherlock, his expression had been wonderful too. _Oh? Jim from IT? Gay Jim? Jim is Moriarty? _He smirked at the thought. For someone who was made out to be one of the smartest people in London, Sherlock sure had been slow on the uptake.

Tapping his fingers on the table, he pondered his next move. The detective would be safe at the moment, if Jim did as what would be normal, logical. Those paranoid police of his though, they'd probably be keeping an eye on Sherlock and the doctor, worried that the game was not over. Jim smiled to himself. They'd be right, of course. The game wasn't over, and Jim intended to start the next round soon. He tapped a tune on the table, Partita no. 3, as he finally decided. The look on Sherlock's face if he showed up in the dead of night would be perfect, and nothing Sherlock could do would take him down. He loved the idea that he could best the detective. If Sherlock was to be a hero in a story, he would need a villain. Jim would endeavor to be the best villain Sherlock would ever find.

Jim pulled out his phone. How should he do this? Should he warn Sherlock? No, that would deprive Jim of the pleasure he would take upon seeing the look of surprise on Sherlock's face. The nosy detective and his doctor should be in the dark about his plans. Hmm, maybe just a little taster for the pair. Something to amuse Jim. He scrolled through his many contacts and came upon his favorite one, his sniper, Moran. He clicked it, and typed up a text.

-Seb, shoot a bullet into a window of 221B. -JMx- He read over the text. It was not a question, or a request; it was an order, as he was used to sending. He clicked a button to send the text, holding the device in his hand and fiddling with it. He knew how the sniper worked; he'd get a text once it was done. The reply came twenty minutes later, much to Jim's relief.

-It is done. -SM- was the short reply. Jim was jubilant. He played with the phone for a moment, thinking. He really wanted to see the pair of Sherlock and Watson fretting about, their window shattered. He wanted to see them scrambling to figure out what the shot was about, and finally come to the conclusion that it was a warning, a taster. Ought he go in person, though? He could use the CCTV to watch. No, CCTV had no sound. Tapping his fingers one last time, he made up his mind.

-Keep an eye on 221B. If something goes wrong, it will be necessary for you to intervene. -JMx- he texted, and slipped his phone into his pocket. He stood, and went over to the coat rack. Slipping on his coat, he headed out. Sherlock would never expect this. He couldn't wait to see the expression on the confused, nervous detective's face. No matter how much he tried to hide it, Sherlock could not hide from Jim the fact that he did have emotions. He was going to exploit them, too, in his journey to burn Sherlock and finish the game.

**_*Sorry this chapter is so short. The next one will be longer, I promise.*_**


	2. Chapter 1

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 1

Moriarty Likes Surprising People

**_*I do not own Sherlock. Do not steal. If you like, feel free to follow, favorite, or leave a review. Thank you.*_**

As Jim walked down the street towards Sherlock's flat, his footfalls were the only notable sound. Besides the occasional passing of a car, the clapping of Jim's shoes against the sidewalk were, in fact, the _only_ sounds. Clap, clap, clap, they went, as he walked along. With the exclusion of himself, the street was completely empty, save a few cars and the occasional passerby.

His gaze was definitely one of someone who was lost in thought. He was staring off into space, focused entirely on the face he imagined Sherlock would have when Jim arrived. It would be adorable. And that of his flatmate... Oh, that would be even better, but he cared nothing for the pet. The doctor was nothing more than a way to get to Sherlock.

He almost walked past 221B when he reached it, because he wasn't paying attention. He just laughed it off lightly, and went up to the door. He tried the door silently. Of course it was locked, what should he expect? Not that it mattered to him, though. He pulled a bobby pin out of his pocket, and picked the lock with ease. It was hardly half a minute before the door was unlocked. He opened it and closed it silently as he went in, walking carefully up the stairs. He grinned to himself, remembering the looks on the pair's faces that his imagination had come up with.

He reached the top of the stairs. He stared at the door for a moment, listening to the interactions of the two inside. The voices were certainly irate and suggestive that they were currently or had been arguing. Smirking, he reached out, turned the knob, and pushed the door open.

* * *

Sherlock and John were asleep when they heard the gunshot and their window shatter. Sherlock was more unnerved about it than John was. John insisted that it was an accident, while Sherlock knew otherwise. Sherlock quickly deduced that it was a warning, but John wouldn't hear it. He even told Sherlock to shut up. That had led to an argument. Sherlock wouldn't have argued, but he needed John to accept what it was.

The argument had quickly died down in intensity. They still shot sharp words at each other every so often, but it was mostly just bitter silence. Sherlock had been in the middle of a sentence when the door opened. He glanced at it, at first unperturbed, but he did a double take and froze. He glanced at John, whose eyes had widened and mouth was hanging open. Sherlock kept his expression calm, but he could feel the tension in his face and body, and the wideness of his eyes. In their doorway stood a man who had threatened John earlier. When Sherlock and John said nothing, Moriarty decided to speak as he glanced at the window.

"Did you like my little greeting? I have to assume not. You've been fretting about, arguing. And I know it's not just because you have to pay for the repairs. I decided I had to come see _you, _Sherlock, in person. I don't regret it either. You should've seen your face when I walked in. Priceless." he said, and put his camera phone away. He grinned to himself; some might think it odd that he had photographed Sherlock and John's faces when he walked in, but he wanted to remember them.

"What do you want, Moriarty?" John growled. Sherlock held up a hand to him and gave him a look that told him not to say anything.

"You'll want to be quiet, doctor. You're just the pet. I have no reservations about getting rid of you if you act out of turn, so you'll want to toe the line. Let the only two competent people in the room have a nice little chat. You could go make tea or something." Jim said dully. He wasn't completely honest in that. The fact that Sherlock actually had a friend interested him to no end. He wanted to get to know the pet, the one who could tolerate the obnoxious detective.

"John, that might be best." Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off of the criminal. John, flustered, stood and headed to the kitchen. He was very loud about making the tea, but neither Sherlock nor his enemy were perturbed. "Why have you come, Jim?"

"How long has it been since you've done drugs, Sherlock?" Jim purred, staring intently at his detective. Sherlock seemed a bit disconcerted at the question. "Oh, you're so cute when you make that face. I have to take a picture." he gushed, and pulled out his phone, taking a picture of Sherlock, who was bewildered. "Do you know what would stink, Sherlock? If you went into relapse." he said suggestively.

"Is that why you've come?" Sherlock asked, his eyes darting warily over Jim's body, looking for the outline of a needle. Yeah, Jim was definitely going to drug him.

"Behave, Sher, and I will be mild. If John comes back in here, I'll give you both a heavy dose. Who knows what you both will do on drugs? But if you don't call for him, if he doesn't come in here and interrupt, I'll give you a small dose and be on my way." Jim said, and shrugged. "Let me know what your choice is. I have things to do, murders to plan, you know."

Sherlock wore a mildly irate expression. So this was how Jim intended to burn him. Send him into relapse, break his relationship with John.

"Do it, quickly. Before John comes back." Sherlock whispered, leaning forward. Jim just laughed.

"You believed it? Sherlock, you should've known I was just toying with you. Maybe I'll change my mind. You better than anyone know how that happens. I'll be on my way now. Enjoy your tea." he said, and stood, strutting to the door, waving backwards, and leaving. Sherlock stared after him for a moment, and John returned to the room with tea.

"What, the criminal can have me make tea but not stay to drink it?" John asked, irately. He shook his head, and poured tea for the two of them. He was relieved that Moriarty had left them both unscathed, but wondered what his plans were for Sherlock.


	3. Chapter 2

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 2

Moriarty Decides

**_*I do not own Sherlock. Do not steal. If you like, feel free to follow, favorite, or leave a review. Thank you.*_**

Sherlock and John went to bed at three in the morning. Sherlock got up at his normal time, while John slept in. Sherlock told Mrs. Hudson about the window, and together, they set up a time to have people come in and replace the window. Things started to quiet down again in Baker Street.

The detective was in a rather sour mood all morning. His window had been shot by an adversary he could not make sense of, and Lestrade had sent several undercover cops to watch 221B after the shot through their window. He didn't like being treated as though he couldn't take care of himself, be safe without police assistance. Sure, if Moriarty had actually intended to drug Sherlock, he could have easily done, but he didn't. He was not in any grave danger, at least, not to his knowledge.

Moriarty had fallen silent. Sherlock had heard nothing from him since last night. He shared John's concerns, for once: What was Moriarty planning? What was he intending to do about Sherlock? Naturally, he'd never let John know he was concerned. He kept his cool, calm, unconcerned manner effortlessly throughout the day. In fact, he said nothing at all. He just scrolled through news feeds on his phone, occasionally read an article in the newspaper, or watched the people pass by 221B, occasionally stopping to examine the place. He didn't eat anything, but he did go to bed at the same time as John. He slept easily.

* * *

Jim was back to hiding in his own personal crevice in London, a place where he could exist in peace. As he had done last night, he was running his encounters with Sherlock through his mind. The detective was adorable when he was confused or defensive. Part of him wanted to take Holmes from 221B and keep him in his home, just so that he'd have something to entertain him on a boring day. But no, he couldn't... Premature acting of such a ridiculous sort would destroy his plans for his enemy.

It was half an hour after he woke up that he made up his mind about his next course of action. Sure, last night had been sure proof for the detective that Jim knew all the strings to pull, exactly what to do to make him do what he wanted. He felt that something new, something grander was in order, though. Something that wouldn't flee the younger Holmes's mind so easily, something that would constantly remind him of the power of the consulting criminal. He texted someone at random with his request.

-Stop whatever you're doing and put a bomb at Baker Street. Don't let Holmes know what you're up to. -JM- was the message he'd sent. He sat back, noticing that it was the number of one of his newer employees. He smiled to himself as he considered it. This would prove as a test of loyalty. Sure, as a new recruit he was less trustworthy, but if he did this, Jim would be able to take him into more confidence.

OOO

An hour later, Jim got a text from the man he'd set the task to, saying that the deed was done, and asking what he ought to do next. Before Jim would give him any instructions, he had to know. -Did Holmes see you? Was he suspicious? -JM- he texted.

-No, he was scrolling through something on his phone.- came the text back. Jim was pleased. Holmes would not expect the bomb, the impending explosion, nor would he hear the ticking of the bomb as it counted down the time until detonation.

-Set the bomb to detonate in five minutes' time. -JM- he texted back, as though he was just playing a game. He then put his phone away and turned on the tv. He would want to see people scuttling about in the fire, ashes, and rubble. He wanted to watch the bomb explode, but that would be too much of a risk. If Holmes was conscious when the paramedics got him, he'd surely spill the beans about where the bomb came from.

* * *

John was sitting in a chair across from Sherlock. The latter could tell that his flatmate wanted to converse, but he himself had no desire to. His sour mood lingered from the previous night and early morning, and he had no desire to speak with anyone on a lower intellectual level than himself. In other words, he had no desire to speak with anyone.

He set his phone in his pocket and stood, going into the kitchen. He was going to drink some water; how thirsty it was. Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. His world tore apart in fire and debris; their flat was destroyed. Flames raged and both John and Sherlock had been knocked unconscious by the flying debris.

It was just a few minutes before the paramedics and fire department came to put out the flames, find a way through the wreckage, and uncover the unconscious pair. They were hauled outside on stretchers and immediately put into an ambulance. The paramedics were freaking out: These two were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, and their injuries could prove fatal.

After a few minutes of inquiry, they learned about the other inhabitants and their luck. No one else, not even the landlady Mrs. Hudson, had been in. Only the detective and the doctor had been injured, which led them to believe that the attack was specifically targeted at them. Nothing less than they'd expected, of course. Lestrade had told them a blow might fall upon the pair.

* * *

Jim headed out to Baker Street after he'd had his laugh about the explosion on the news. He'd caught a glimpse of Sherlock, just Sherlock, and he was gorgeous, with all those burns and scratches, all that blood. Jim had rarely seen him look better. However, his entertainment had quickly dulled as the attention turned to witnesses and firemen, neither of whom he had any interest in. His interest was focused on Sherlock, and Sherlock alone.

After watching the building burn for a few minutes, he decided that he would go see Sherlock. A little visit to give the detective a start, that would be best. Lestrade would not know him, as Sherlock had not managed to take a picture of him. A foolish move on Sherlock's part, to be perfectly honest, but hey, nothing he could do to change it.

He smirked to himself as he finally came upon the hospital, and went inside.


	4. Chapter 3

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 3

Moriarty Pays Sherlock A Visit

_***I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. Feel free to follow, favorite, and review. Thanks for all of the above.***_

Jim walked into the hospital, and asked if he could see Sherlock. They said he could, but first, they needed his name. Naturally, he'd been prepared for the question. He told them his name was Alex Flemming, easily, and they took note. Jim kept a smirk from stretching across his face. These people were so gullible... He could just imagine their reactions, should they know that they were leading the most dangerous criminal mind London had ever seen to someone who was probably the most famous non-royal person in London.

Jim sat down in a chair right beside Sherlock's bed once they got to his room. He feigned a look of concern, which quickly faded once the nurses left. He glanced at the door, and then back at Sherlock. He couldn't help but smirk. The detective was completely at his mercy right now; Jim could do anything he wanted to him at the moment and nothing would happen. He could kill the detective as he slept. But no, he thought dully, he had to leave Sherlock's physical state as it was. It was all part of the plan, his plan. He mustn't act.

His plan was elaborate, he had to admit. Even he didn't quite know all the parts of it yet. All he knew was that step two was complete: First, demonstrate exactly what he could do if he wanted to to the detective, then, give him another demonstration, the effects of which would cause his point to never be forgotten. He wasn't done with this part of his plan, yet, but he couldn't complete it until the detective was in better health. Sherlock's body would not be able to handle further physical harm at the moment. Well, it wasn't _exactly _harm, but it had the potential to be.

Jim put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, running his hand over the rough skin that contained stitches. To see him asleep, so peaceful, yet so damaged, stitches and bandages all over his body, was a beautiful thing to Jim. He moved his hand up to Sherlock's cheek, and stood, kissing him on the forehead. "Sleep well, Sherlock Holmes." he murmured, and then left without another word.

* * *

It was a long while after the explosion that John woke up with a start. He immediately regretted it; a sharp pain went through his back. Aside from the pain, his first thought was about Sherlock. Where was he? Was he okay? Was he even alive, after the explosion? Sherlock had been closer to the bomb, John figured, as the bomb had gone off when Sherlock went into the kitchen. Then he wondered how the bomb came to be there. It didn't take long for him to figure it out: Moriarty. The consulting criminal had warned Sherlock to back off, but the latter hadn't. John expected that a blow would've fallen, but he hadn't expected it so soon and he hadn't expected it in the form of his flat being bombed.

John let out a sigh, quite uncomfortable. He figured the nurses and doctors would know he was awake, then. He closed his eyes again, and went back to sleep so that he wouldn't feel the pain.

* * *

When Sherlock woke up, it had been a day after the time when John had woken up. His mind was a bit fuzzy from the incident, but he wasn't in too much pain. He looked to the side and noticed that they had given him morphine. He tried vaguely to remember what had happened. All he could remember was going into the kitchen and then... a brief moment of pain before he'd gone unconscious.

It didn't take hardly a moment for him to figure out where the bomb had come from in the first place. The consulting criminal had threatened Sherlock; it would only have been a matter of time before a blow fell upon them. Not that he'd expected it so soon; if he had, he'd have trodden a bit more carefully.

After he'd figured out what had happened, he wondered how long he'd been out. He looked down at the bandages and stitches which covered him. Oh dear... He must've been close to the bomb when it detonated. He reached over to press a button to call a nurse. He was rather hungry... He suspected he'd been out for at least two days.

A nurse came in a few minutes later in response to the button, and looked Sherlock over. She said that he would be fine, would heal properly, but that he had to stay put. Sherlock sighed at that, but knew it couldn't be helped. He wanted to heal as quickly as possible. He asked the nurse if he could have something to eat. She told him he could, and came back a few minutes later with a sandwich and a cup of water. Sherlock ate it hungrily, after murmuring his thanks. He felt better already.

* * *

Jim was back in his home after his lovely visit with Sherlock. He sat down on his couch, which was made of real, high-quality leather, and pulled out his laptop. It was a dell, so that when he needed to carry it about, it wouldn't draw attention or suspicion. Using it, he hacked into the hospital surveillance. He went to watch Sherlock in his room, and saw him alone, eating his sandwich hungrily. He smiled to himself. Sherlock was doing exactly as he expected, a puppet dancing obediently to the tugs on its strings. Sherlock was going to heal quickly because he wanted to. Then, Jim would get to have some fun.

He then let out a sigh as he remembered that it would be a few days before Sherlock was well enough for the next stage of Jim's plan. He'd modified it, slightly, changing what he was going to do next. Sherlock would have to be asleep, medically asleep, for him to do it. He was sure it would be quite painful for the detective if he was awake.


	5. Chapter 4

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 4

Moriarty Makes His Next Move

**_*I do not own Sherlock; Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. Thank you for the follows, favorites, and reviews. ^_^*_**

For the two weeks following the explosion at Baker Street, things had gone from very eventful to dull. There had been people in to repair Baker Street, so by the time that Sherlock was fully healed, he and John could go straight home. Sherlock was healing less quickly than he should have been. While he was eating a lot in the hospital, his bad habits as far as his health went prior to the explosion had taken their toll on his healing abilities. Sherlock was in a dependent condition for the two weeks following the explosion. They couldn't let him go so soon, because it was too much of a health risk.

Jim was getting impatient. He'd very much wanted to make his next move, but Sherlock's prolonged recovery was interfering with his ability to. That was most unfortunate for him, because he'd changed his plan ever so slightly and was dying to fulfill the new steps. Oh, but he wanted to continue. Not that he told any of his men his actual plan, though. His plan was a complete and utter secret. His men knew as much as Sherlock did. His men were just puppets to dance obediently to Jim's tugging at the strings, just as Sherlock was just a puppet at the moment.

His thoughts, for the first time, strayed away from Sherlock, and toward the doctor who the detective was so fond of. He was intrigued by the former; the only person who could tolerate Sherlock and all his antisocialism. Until now, Dr. Watson had just been the pet, a means for Jim to get to Sherlock. Perhaps if he knew more about the doctor, if he found out what made him tick, he could improve his plan even more. If Watson proved interesting, Jim might give him slightly better treatment.

When Jim found out that Sherlock and John had been released from the hospital, he was ecstatic. Time to make his new move... Find out more about the doctor and burn Sherlock.

* * *

Baker Street had been repaired in such an expeditious nature that Sherlock almost couldn't believe it. When he and John went home, the new flat was empty save some furniture that insurance had bought. All of Sherlock's papers had burned; all of his most treasured possessions had been destroyed. He didn't sulk over it for too long, though: He had new equipment because of the insurance, and nothing irreplaceable that had been destroyed was of too much consequence, when he thought about it. John wouldn't be complaining about the disorganized state of things, now that the clutter was gone.

Sherlock took a seat in the new chair. The latter being new, it was, admittedly, not as comfortable as his old chair, but Sherlock knew it would grow to be. He felt a short pang of sadness: His violin had been destroyed. He didn't sulk over it, though, as he had more than money enough to buy a new one. It would start out strange and unfamiliar, but it would grow to feel friendly just as his old violin had. A text on his phone pulled him out of his reverie.

-Glad to hear you're all better. ~JMx- was the text he'd received. He just stared at it for a moment, wondering what to reply. -So you've been thinking about me, then? -SH- he texted back after a few moments. -Of course I've been thinking about you, Sherly, I've been watching you ever since I bombed you. I was almost afraid you wouldn't make it. Almost. ~JMx- was the swift reply he got a few seconds later. Sherlock couldn't ignore the oddness about the text this time. Jim had been watching him, had called him Sherly, and had added a kiss (x) after his initials. Sherlock slipped his phone away. He had hardly been home at all before he got the criminal's attention again. He'd be lying if he said he didn't mind that he was getting no relief, no breaks from the criminal. In all honesty, he just wanted to rest.

* * *

John was watching Sherlock text, having guessed who he was texting, when a text came on his own phone. He frowned. That was... highly unlikely, to say the very least.

-Hello, Johnny boy. -JM- was the text _he'd _gotten on his own phone. If Moriarty hadn't addressed him by name, he'd have thought for sure that the text was meant for Sherlock. After all, why should Moriarty care about him? He was just a weak spot of Sherlock's.

-What do you want? -JW- he texted back, finally. He'd debated ignoring it, but his curiosity about why the criminal was texting him was overwhelming.

-Don't be cold, Dr. Watson. I want to get to know you. In return, I'll let you know a little bit about me, things that Sherlock never knew. -JM- came the text from Moriarty, with a definite pause.

-What do you want to know? -JW- he texted, and then glanced nervously up at Sherlock. This was a deal with the devil, and if Sherlock knew, he'd surely tell him not to do it. However, it was Sherlock who he was doing it for, so he danced as the criminal desired.

-General background, childhood and young adult history. Nothing major. Meet me at Speedy's in an hour. -JM- came the next text, as though it had been pre-typed, expecting John's reply.

-See you then. -JW- he texted.

-Bye, Johnny boy. -JM-

* * *

Jim ran over his plans after putting his phone away. John Watson was doing exactly as he wanted; so far, everything was going to plan. His next move was in order, and he packed the things he'd need for his trip to Baker Street.


	6. Chapter 5

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 5

Moriarty Burns Sherlock

As he had been directed, John went to Speedy's an hour after his textversation with Moriarty. As he went in, he saw that Moriarty wasn't there. He knew that Moriarty would be coming, but he was a bit agitated that the criminal had not bothered to get there first. He ordered a drink and waited patiently for Moriarty. The wait was starting to get a bit long, though, and he got impatient.

* * *

Jim had gotten word from his men that John was waiting at Speedy's, right on time. They said he was agitated, having to wait for Jim. _He can wait a bit more. _Jim thought to himself. _I have business elsewhere on Baker Street. _Jim was at Baker Street, but he wasn't going to Speedy's. Not yet, anyway. He found himself picking the lock of 221B and going on up. He was excited at the pending meeting with his favorite detective. He opened the door to Sherlock's living room, and let himself in.

"I thought you said you were going out, John." Jim heard Sherlock say from the kitchen. He couldn't hold back a smirk. Sherlock Holmes thought that the person who had just entered was his doctor? Poor Sherlock!

"He did." Jim called, the Irish lilt in his accent quite prominent, and went to sit on the couch. The place looked different, cleaner than when he'd last been there. He heard Sherlock pause whatever it was he was doing, and then saw him walk out to look at the intruder. Jim watched Sherlock take a seat across from him. "Good thing you had such good insurance. You were able to replace just about everything." Jim said conversationally.

"Why have you come?" Sherlock asked, refusing to play games with his nemesis. "I know it can't be just for a little chat. We could've done that elsewhere."

"Patience, Sherlock. It's all part of the plan." Moriarty said, and felt into his own pocket. Yes, he still had what he needed. Sherlock, of course, hadn't missed a beat in noticing the very slight gesture.

"When you said you were going to burn me," Sherlock said, eying the lump in Jim's coat pocket warily, "I must admit, I hadn't thought you'd meant it literally."

* * *

Lestrade was sitting at his desk at Scotland Yard. He'd been trying his very best to track the man responsible for the near-fatal injuries of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Naturally, he'd failed to find Moriarty. Sherlock hadn't given him a picture; just a run-through of the incident at the pool. Imagine his outrage when, the very next day, Sherlock's flat was bombed! Then, imagine how worse it must've gotten when Sherlock didn't give him any help! It was almost as though the consulting detective _wanted _to be killed by Moriarty.

Though he did not know what Moriarty looked like, he'd had some officers stationed at Baker Street to keep an eye on Sherlock ever since the bombing. They'd all come back reporting that nothing out of usual had occurred at Baker Street. Lestrade figured two weeks might be enough. Reluctantly, he'd removed surveillance from Baker Street the morning that Sherlock was released from the hospital. He figured, if Moriarty was going to try to finish the job, he would've tried when Sherlock was still in the hospital.

* * *

Jim pulled out the lighter and looked at it intently. Sherlock simply watched him, silently calculating all the ways out of his flat. Jim then looked up at Sherlock.

"I'll give you a choice, Sherlock. You _let _me do this, and I'll sedate you so you feel nothing. Or, you can struggle against me, and I can do it while you're wide awake. Make your choice, Sherly." Jim said, lighting the lighter for dramatic effect. Sherlock just stared at him. "Tick tock, Sherly, I haven't got all day." Jim said drolly. "I'm serious this time, I'll do whichever one you choose."

"I'd prefer the former." Sherlock said at last, knowing that he had no way out of this. Jim probably expect him to jump up and try to escape any moment now, so he probably wouldn't make it more than a few feet before he was tackled.

"Alright, sweetie. Hold tight, then. I got it from the hospital; it's purely medicinal." Jim said, and drew a syringe from his pocket. He gently injected Sherlock with the needle, and it was a few seconds before Sherlock's eyelids started to droop as the sedative started to take effect. He caught Sherlock as he started to fall, and laid him carefully on the couch. He unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt, and lit the lighter again. Carefully, so as to not set anything else on fire, he burned a heart on Sherlock's chest.

Once the heart was finished, Jim stood. After kissing Sherlock on the forehead, he left without another word.

* * *

It was just fifteen minutes after he was supposed to be there that Jim arrived at Speedy's. Fortunately, John was still there. Admittedly, John looked impatient. It was a rather cute face to see on him, but he didn't bother taking a picture.

"Sorry that took so long, Johnny boy. I had other business to attend to." Jim said as he sat down in front of John, who just stared at him. "Well, let's get started, then."

_***Sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the others. :P***_


	7. Chapter 6

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 6

Moriarty Changes The Plan

**_*I do not own Sherlock; Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. Thanks for the follows, favorites, and reviews. Thanks to gamerchick93 for the support.*_**

John left the deli an hour after Jim had finally arrived. He'd divulged a lot about himself to the criminal, and in return, the criminal had given him a bit of history and information about himself and his work. John remembered everything that he had been told, so that he could pass the message on to Sherlock. He was a bit nervous about having divulged so much about himself, but if it helped Sherlock, he would do it.

John headed straight back home nextdoor, and went up the steps slightly nervously. Part of him figured that Sherlock might be upset once John told him what he'd done. The detective would probably not approve of his deal with the devil. He made it to the top of the stairs, and opened the door. He walked in, and saw Sherlock laying on the couch. He would've thought nothing of it, but his shirt was open and there was a heart burned on his chest.

"Sherlock!"

* * *

Jim was back in his flat just a few minutes after his meeting with the doctor had come to an end. He had gathered a lot of information without having had to give out too much. The second he got home, he went to his laptop, and hacked into the CCTV at Baker Street. Sure, it had no sound, but it would still amuse him.

He was just in time to see John find Sherlock asleep and burned. He watched eagerly, so that he could see what the doctor would do next. He'd sacrificed information for the detective, but in doing so, had left him unprotected. He smirked as he thought about how Watson was dealing with that.

* * *

When John saw Sherlock, he panicked, knowing quite well what had happened. Moriarty had drawn him out to get to Sherlock, and still had the nerve to keep his appointment with John. He decided, at that moment, that he would be mad later. Now, Sherlock needed the burn to be treated. John went to get the first aid kit, and when he returned, he started to treat the burn.

It took him ten minutes to clean it up and treat it, and then just a couple more to bandage it up. It needed to be covered, and specially, otherwise, it would stick to any shirt Sherlock wore. That would make taking off a shirt quite painful for the latter. Once he finished, he proceeded to try to wake Sherlock up. It started out with poking and prodding, which didn't work. John hadn't really expected it to; Sherlock was obviously sedated. He proceeded to slap him across the face. That, and the combination of him telling in Sherlock's ear, did the trick.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, WAKE UP!" John shouted in his ear, synchronizing it with a slap. Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and he sat bolt upright. He immediately brought a hand to his chest, the burn obviously causing him pain. Sherlock then gave John a puzzled looked.

"Where have you been? Where did Moriarty go?" Sherlock asked, glancing around as though he might find the criminal under a couch or behind a chair. John shook him slightly to bring Sherlock's attention back to him.

"He must've sedated you, burned you, and left. He's not here." John said. "That burn should get less painful quickly. I'll make you some tea, if you want. Anything that will help you feel better." John spoke in a soothing tone, trying to get Sherlock to calm down. The latter seemed to be repressing a bit of panic, but then stopped, and looked up at John.

"Yes, a nice cup of tea would be great..." Sherlock said, and nodded. At that, John left to go into the kitchen. He made tea, which the two soon enjoyed. Everything quieted back down.

* * *

MONTHS LATER (A SCANDAL IN BELGRAVIA)

Jim had enjoyed these past few months of playing with the devious Irene Adler. The Woman held in her hands a powerful weapon, which, when she had shown Jim, the latter had been quite inclined to help, free of charge. He had known early on that Sherlock was on the case, so when an opportunity like the one that the dominatrix had provided him came along, he couldn't not take it. While he didn't look to see Sherlock in person, he did want to leave his mark on the case. The price for Jim to help Irene had been a very small, very easy one: All she had to do was create mayhem for the Holmes brothers, and give little Sherly his regards.

Besides the little message, he'd left Sherlock alone, as far as direct contact and mayhem went.

* * *

(HOUND OF BASKERVILLE)

The case out in Baskerville had been a mildly interesting one for Jim. It held one singular feature, though, that really brought his attention to it: Opportunity. Jim, upon easy observation, had already long since discovered the secret of the hound. That's why he' done everything he could to give that case publicity: Who would want to listen to a mental child talk about an imaginary hound? Nobody, but Jim soon fixed that. He brought Sherlock's attention to it, because he knew the effects of the fog. Sherlock soon would too, and if Jim was right, the fog would remind the former of the greatest criminal mind London had ever seen. The fog worked in an interesting way; whomever breathed it in saw their greatest fear, or just something incredibly scary. Sherlock, he knew, would see his enemy, somewhere along. He was delighted when he found out that it was true.

* * *

After the Hound of Baskerville case, Jim found himself captured by the older Holmes. Evidently, the latter had finally decided to do something about this nuisance, on behalf of his younger brother. Jim was taken away to an unheard of facility, which was used for interrogation and holding. Before long, Jim was told why he was there: They wanted the key code that he'd managed to 'acquire', if you could call it that. He also wanted to know how large the criminal's empire was, and what his plans were for little Sherlock Holmes. Not that he'd ever tell.

They interrogated him for weeks. He was beaten to a bloody pulp, but still, he wouldn't say anything but small hints about how large his empire was. Little hints, just about where to look. After several weeks of interrogation, he was let go. He'd been allowed to heal beforehand, and Mycroft had evidently decided that he would get nothing more from the stubborn criminal. Jim went about his business as usual.

* * *

It had taken weeks of planning, and monitoring, but finally, Jim was ready to put his plan into action. Sherlock would fall, the Reichenbach Fall, and Jim would be exalted in the criminal world for getting rid of the biggest plague to it.

Jim found himself pondering this as he began to take pictures of people and signs at the Tower of London. He straightened his hat, which donned their flag, and went to see the crown jewels, dressed as a tourist. He stood in front of them, looking at them, and he put earbuds in. He scrolled through his music and found what he was looking for: (How suiting!) A Thieving Magpie. He clicked to play it, and tilted his head back, taking in the music. He closed his eyes for a moment, just... listening. He then opened his eyes and returned to his phone. He found the app he was looking for, one with a crown and jewels, and clicked it. Here started his plan, his answer, his solution to the final problem.


	8. Chapter 7

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 7

Moriarty Goes To Court

_***I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. F&F, and feel free to leave a review.***_

Jim shot one last text Sherlock's way as he waited for the police to come. He slipped his phone away, and put on the crown and the cape. He then picked up the scepter. He sank into the chair, and he didn't have to wait long then. Armed men burst into the room, their guns aimed at Jim, whose eyes had been closed. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he opened his eyes.

"No rush."

* * *

Sherlock had been keeping up with the papers ever since the break-ins, since he'd been told that he was to be called as an expert witness at the upcoming trial. Of course, news of that had gotten out. He'd seen papers with his face printed on it, alongside Moriarty's. People were calling this the "trial of the century". Sherlock, of course, paid no mind to these newspapers except when he was reading them. John, naturally, was concerned, but Sherlock had already worked out the point of the break-ins, and had nothing left to say.

* * *

Six weeks passed since the break-ins, and the day of the trial finally arrived. Jim Moriarty was dressed in one of his finer suits. His wrists were handcuffed to those of two men who had not managed to gain any of Jim's interest. He started down the hall with this group, and his lips tugged into a smirk. Finally, it was time...

* * *

_Today is the trial..._ Sherlock thought to himself. _Not that it matters... But what is the point? Why did he want to be there? _Sherlock simply wondered this as he got dressed. He let out a sigh. No cases today, and he'd rather sit around in his sheet and wait than go to this trial. _I'm going to be bombarded by people the second I leave the flat... _he thought with another sigh. Not that he didn't like being appreciated, but it did start to get annoying, the flurry of questions and the flashes of cameras, the microphones in his face, and the unceasing chatter. John, Sherlock knew, was waiting in the living room for him at that very moment. The former had not wanted to attend the trial, but was going for Sherlock's safety. John didn't want Sherlock being in the same room as the psychopath who'd burned a heart on the latter's chest.

Sherlock finished getting ready and came out. As he had predicted, John was waiting for him. Sherlock walked out first, followed by John, and went down the stairs. They both paused right before the door. They were facing each other, hearing the crowd outside.

"You ready?" John asked.

"Yes." Sherlock said, and nodded.

With that, John closed the distance between himself and the door and opened the latter, revealing the crowd they had both known would be there. Sherlock walked out after him and was immediately joined by a few people who warded off the crowd. He went to the police car and got inside, people still following after him. John had already gotten in by then. They both buckled up and were on their way. They remained silent for a few minutes, before John spoke.

"Remember-"

"Yes."

John paused. "Remember-"

"Yes."

"Remember..." John started, much to Sherlock's displeasure. "Remember what they told you. Don't be clever," Sherlock murmured "No" before he continued, "and please, keep it simple, and brief."

"God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent."

"Intelligent, fine. Let's give smart ass a wide berth."

Sherlock paused for a moment. "I'll just be myself."

"Are you even listening to me?"

* * *

Sherlock was washing up in the restroom when he heard the door open and close behind him. He heard a bag drop and a woman's voice say, "You're him."

He glanced at her reflection in the mirror, and saw the hat and the "I 3 Sherlock Holmes" button. He gave a mental sigh. "Wrong toilet." he said, buttoning up the shirt that he'd had down so that he could put some cool water on the scar on his chest, which had been burning. It only took the woman to notice it in his reflection.

"What is that?" she asked. Sherlock gave a sigh. He was hoping she wouldn't notice, but it was her job to notice, he saw.

"Just a scar." he murmured, and buttoned his blazer back again.

"That was a heart, burned on your chest. Was that his doing?" she asked persistently. With a sigh, Sherlock nodded. "Will you tell me what happened? Will you give me an interview? There's a lot of gossip about you in the press... You're going to want someone on your side." she said, unrelenting.

"No, I won't give you an interview, no I don't want the money." Sherlock said, and headed for the door. The woman blocked him, and stood against the door, keeping it shut.

"The name is Kitty Riley, Mr. Holmes. You can trust me, if that's the issue you're having. If you ever want to set the record straight, just give me a call." she said, and pulled out a business card, before slipping it into Sherlock's blazer pocket.

"I see hungry, I don't see trustworthy." Sherlock said irately. "You're still waiting for your first big scoop so your boss will notice you, and I'm afraid you'll have to keep looking. I'll give you a quote, though, if you like, just three little words." He grabbed the recorder that he had noticed in her pocket early on and held it close to his mouth, before clicking record. "You. Repel. Me." he said, and then stopped the recording, before taking her shock to his advantage and walking out.

* * *

Jim was standing in his prearranged spot, just gazing around as though all of this was uninteresting. One of the guards assigned to him, a blond woman, was doing up his cuffs. He murmured quietly, "Would you mind slipping your hand into my pocket?" He saw the woman look at the man who was in charge of him, and knew that the latter nodded. She did as he asked, and pulled out a piece of gum. Jim opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, and the woman put the piece of gum in his mouth. He immediately began to chew, and smiled at her. "Thanks." he said, eying her interestedly. He'd like to kiss her... He'd like to kill her... He'd not do either, though. She was unimportant.

He watched Sherlock finally come in a few minutes later, and smiled over at him. He knew the latter did not want to be within a hundred feet of him. Not that it mattered, though; the detective had no choice, and Jim took slight pleasure in knowing that he had led to that. Soon, the trial began.

* * *

"A consulting criminal." the woman repeated. "Your words. Would you care to elaborate on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire." Sherlock replied.

"A tradesman?"

"Yes..."

"But not the kind who'd fix your heating."

"No, the kind to stage an assassination or plant a bomb, but I'm sure he'd make a fairly good job of your boiler."

Jim's lips curved into a smirk upon hearing that. Sherlock was always such fun.

"Could you-" the woman started, but Sherlock cut her off.

"No, don't do that." he said, and the woman frowned. "That's considered leading. He'll object."

"Mr. Holmes." the judge said, sternly.

"How would you describe this man, his character?" she asked.

"First mistake. James Moriarty isn't a man at all." Sherlock said, and glanced at Jim as he spoke. "He's a spider. A spider in the center of a web. A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each of them dances." The woman looked mildly taken aback by his answer, but continued.

"And how long-"

"No, don't, don't do that, that's really not a good question."

"Mr. Holmes, we're fine without your help." the judge said.

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of inquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun at him, he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something." he said, lacing the last sentence with unmistakable sarcasm. He looked over to see Jim wear a look of mock exasperation, before the judge spoke directly to his question.

"Ms. Sorrel? You seriously claim this man to be an expert? After knowing the accused for just five minutes?"

"Two would've made me an expert, five was ample."

"Mr. Holmes, that's a matter for the jury!"

"The jury?" he said, and looked over at them, much to John's exasperation. "Two teachers... Five high pressure jobs, probably in the city... One from out of town, judging by her shorthand... Two are having an affair, with each other, it seems. They've just had coffee, would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

"Mr. Holmes! You're here to answer Ms. Sorrel's questions, not give a display of your intellectual prowess! Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes... without showing off?!"

Sherlock took a breath before he spoke again.

Five minutes later, he was being taken to a cell for contempt of court.


	9. Chapter 8

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 8

Moriarty Decides He Owes Them Both A Fall

**_*I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. F&F, and feel free to leave reviews.*_**

Sherlock had been sitting in his home, waiting for the verdict. He strongly hoped that Jim wouldn't get off, but a part of him knew that his enemy would be released under the verdict "Not Guilty". His eyes were closed when his phone rang. He immediately answered.

"Not guilty, they found him not guilty, Sherlock." John said, immediately. Sherlock was silent as he let his hand fall to his lap. "Sherlock, are you listening? He's out there; you know he'll be coming after you. Sherlock-" John was cut off as Sherlock hung up. He stuffed his hand back into his pocket and went into the kitchen. He got the kettle boiling, and quickly prepared the tea. He ran a hand absentmindedly over his chest, and then went to start playing his violin.

* * *

Jim broke into 221B and stepped steadily up the stairs. He had to pause on a creaky step, but he went all the way up. He heard the violin playing from the moment he stepped in, and paused to listen to it before he opened the door.

"Most people knock." said the tall, suited figure who was facing away from him with the violin still on his shoulder. "But then, you're not most people, I suppose." The detective turned around to face him as Jim spoke.

"Bach would be appalled." Jim said, and picked up an apple from a bowl nearby. "May I?" he asked drolly, raising his eyebrows.

"Of course." Sherlock replied, nodding. "Sit. Kettle's just boiled..." He pointed with the violin bow to the seat that Jim knew to be John's. Jim walked steadily over and sat instead in what he knew was Sherlock's seat. He took slight pleasure in knowing that it irked the detective.

"You know when he was in his deathbed, Bach... He heard his son at the piano playing one of his... pieces. The boy stopped before he got to the end." Jim said conversationally.

"The dying man jumped out of his bed, ran to the piano, and finished the piece."

"Couldn't cope with an unfinished melody..."

"Neither can you; that's why you've come."

"But be honest. You're just a tiny bit pleased."

"What, with the verdict?"

"With me. Back on the streets." he said, and grinned widely. "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain. You need me, or you're nothing. Because we're just alike, you and I. Except you're boring. You're on the side of the angels."

"Got to the jury, of course."

"I got into the Tower of London, you think I can't work my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, realization sinking in. "The cable network."

"Every room has its own personalized tv. Each person has a weak spot, someone they want to protect from harm. Easy peasy." Jim said, and sipped his tea.

"So, how are you going to do it? "Burn me"?"

"Ah, that's the problem, isn't it? The final problem. I did tell you... But did you listen?" he asked, quite amused. He then swiftly changed subject. "How hard do you find it? Having to say 'I don't know'?"

Sherlock clicked his tongue slightly, and said, "I don't know." He then set his cup aside.

"Oh that's clever. That's very clever. Awfully clever. Speaking of clever, have you told your little friends yet?"

"Told them what?"

"Why I broke into all those places and never took anything?"

"No."

"But you understand."

"Of course."

"Off you go then."

"You want me to tell you what you already know?"

"No, I want you to _prove _that you know it."

"You didn't take anything because... you don't need to."

"Good."

"You'll never need to take anything again."

"Very good, because...?"

"Because nothing-nothing, in the Bank of England, the Tower of London, or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of a key that could get you into all three."

"I can open any door, anywhere, with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now. They're all mine. No such thing as secrecy, I _own _secrecy. Nuclear codes, I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And honey, you should see me in a crown."

Sherlock paused. "You were advertising all the way through the trial; you were showing the world what you could do."

"And you were helping." he said, and Sherlock frowned. "Big client lists. Rogue governments, intelligence communities, terror cells, they all want me. Suddenly, I'm Mr. Sex."

"You can break any bank. What do you care about the highest bidder?"

"I don't. I just love to see them all competing; 'Daddy loves me the best!'; aren't _ordinary _people _adorable_? Well, you would know. You've got John." Jim said, becoming thoughtful. "But he's not really ordinary, is he? He can tolerate you. Impressive, really, it is. Ordinary people will just tell you off and avoid you, but him... If I didn't know better, I would think he thought of you as more than a flatmate... More than a friend... I can't burn you without burning him..." That alarmed Sherlock.

"Don't you lay a finger on him. Why would you? You don't want money or power, not really. So what is it all for?"

"I want to solve the problem." Jim said, suddenly cutting him off. "Our problem. The final problem." Jim stared down at the floor for a moment, and spoke again. "It's going to start very soon, Sherlock. The fall. But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying except there's a more permanent destination."

Sherlock pondered it for a moment, before standing and fixing the button on his suit. "I've never liked riddles."

"Learn to." Jim said. "Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock... I. O. U." With that, he walked past Sherlock, and left. He knew that Sherlock would find the apple. On the front, he'd carved "I. O. U." On the back, he'd carved "S.H. + J.W"

* * *

Jim made his way home after his little visit with the detective. Originally, he'd planned to burn Sherlock, and Sherlock alone. Now, however, he had an obstacle; the doctor was someone who people would believe when he said that Moriarty was real. He couldn't have that, now could he? So he would burn them both, the detective and the pet. Watson would still be better off, though. Sherlock was the only one who would end up dead in this little game. He'd leave the doctor to live with that.


	10. Chapter 9

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 9

Moriarty Burns Watson First

_***I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. When posting reviews containing criticism, keep it constructive and polite. Only then will I pay you any attention. If you know how plot works, you know why not much has actually happened, yet. None of what has already occurred was climactic. We're coming up on that part now, though. Feel free to follow, favorite, and review. Thank you.***_

Jim sat at his kitchen table, running through the notes he had about John Watson. Such an interesting character, that army doctor. And credible, too. At that moment, that was. He wouldn't be that way for long. Not when Jim put his full, revised plan into effect. Watson was his primary concern at that time. He'd given Sherlock his love already, in the form of that heart, so the detective could be left for a little while longer. It would be imprudent of him to strike Sherlock before he'd taken down the doctor.

He pulled out the phone number of a really lovely girl he'd met just the other day. Kitty Riley, her name was, and she was perfect for what he needed her for. She was unavailable when he called, but he left the following message for her:

"Hello, this is Richard Brook. Sorry to bother you, but I've got the story you requested as well as another one you may want to print as soon as possible."

* * *

Three days, and Sherlock had seen neither hide nor hair from Jim Moriarty. It unnerved him. The criminal had threatened his greatest friend, and Sherlock would sooner allow himself to be completely destroyed, without a fight, than let John burn. Why was Moriarty going after John? John was uninteresting, as far as he knew, by Moriarty's standards. An ordinary fellow who just happened to be able to put up with Sherlock... John's ability to put up with him was probably the singular feature of interest to Moriarty. It burned for Sherlock to think that he had put John in the danger path of the most dangerous criminal mind ever seen, not just in London, not just in England, but probably in the world. Anything else, he could deal with. This, this was personal. He didn't like it.

Sherlock went outside to collect the morning paper. He brought it inside without a second glance. After he'd made himself a cup of coffee, he came into the living room and began to read the newspaper. His breath caught in his throat, though, when he saw the featured article.

**JOHN WATSON, ARMY DOCTOR, PROVED TO AID FRAUDULENT DETECTIVE**

His eyes widened. He could deal with his name being smeared. It was John's name being smeared that scared the life out of him. He read the article, his fear slowly turning into rage. Who could've gotten all this information?! It would've been someone close to John, and Sherlock, knowing the army doctor, knew that there was no one like that. How could there be? Watson tended to be introverted, and borderline antisocial.

Before he'd even realized what he was doing, his hand was reaching into his pocket to grab the phone. He'd had John's number in the dialer before he came to himself. He ought to be the one to tell John, but not yet. John was still sleeping; he wouldn't disturb him for this. He would not, as well, fail to shove the paper in John's face when the latter woke up. He did just that.

When John awoke, Sherlock immediately stood upon seeing him and shoved the paper at him. Wearing a confused expression, John turned the paper to see the front cover. Immediate shock was clear on his features, and then anger, and then rage.

"WHO COULD KNOW THIS?!" John yelled, throwing the paper down. "WHO COULD KNOW ENOUGH TO MAKE THIS PLAUSIBLE?!" He then went deadly calm. "I know who it was..." he murmured. "I should've never told James Moriarty everything I told him..."

Sherlock stared at him. This was it, he knew. This newspaper that he was picking up off of the floor was the entire reason for Jim's interest in John. Burn John to get to him. Moriarty was clever, as much as he hated to say it. It wasn't even true, but to work, people just needed to believe it. "John." he said in an icily calm voice. "Go check your blog. You'll find a lot of hate comments. Delete all of them."

John did as he said, and pulled out his laptop. He pulled out his blog and saw exactly what Sherlock had told him to expect. There were people calling him a liar, a fraud, a storyteller. 'None of this is even true!' one comment said. 'You're a filthy liar and you should take this blog down immediately,' said another. 'Neither of you deserve the fame you've acquired. You're just a storyteller! I knew it was never true. It was impossible to start with. You two should go fuck yourselves and die in a hole. England is wasting its time on you.' said one, which was perhaps the worst. John did as Sherlock said and deleted them all.

"He's using you to get to me. Not only does smearing your name smear mine, but he knows I'll come after him, now. When I do, he'll be ready." Sherlock murmured, sitting upright in a ball in his chair. "Don't try to stop me, John. There's not much time left."

"Sherlock, don't go tangling with him. This is not the most he can do. If you hand yourself to him... he could do awful things to you, Sherlock, or have you forgotten the heart? He burned it onto your chest with alarming ease. I can't sit back and watch you go down in flames. I don't want him to hurt you. Please, Sherlock, don't go getting yourself into even greater trouble. I don't know what I'd do with myself if you did." John said, pleading.

Sherlock sat back. He was glad that John wanted to keep Sherlock safe, guard him with even his life, but the detective knew how to take care of himself. "John, if I am in danger, I know how to get myself out. I figured you might have understood to leave me to my own affairs, save when I ask for your help. I can deal with this. Just let me try."

"Fine, Sherlock, but if you end up dead because you were too stubborn to back down, I'm going to make sure you die twice." John said, and went into the kitchen to make himself breakfast.

* * *

Jim had been listening to the conversation of the pair, as they reacted to the newspaper. He was suppressing a chain of giggles. Dear Watson, he seemed to understand Jim better than Sherlock did. He let out a sigh. He didn't want to destroy the detective, the all-around gorgeous man. That stubborn detective, though, he just wouldn't back off! He didn't _want _to rid the world of him. He was a delight. But he couldn't sit around and let the detective meddle in his affair and continue to be an inconvenience to him. Now was the time... Time, for the endgame.

He picked up his phone and called one of his men. Within an hour, the children of an American ambassador would be kidnapped, and so start the burning and complete destruction of his favorite person in all the world.


	11. Chapter 10

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 10

Moriarty Begins The Endgame

**_*I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. As always, follow, favorite, and review. Thank you.*_**

Sherlock had been reading a newspaper when Lestrade and Donovan came up into the living room. Sherlock lowered the newspaper to look at him.

"New case?" he asked casually, masking his relief at the fact that Lestrade appeared to still believe him, in spite of the newspaper article that had smeared their names. In his defense, it was John's name that was really smeared. There was no actual evidence that suggested that Sherlock might actually be a fraud. That was a good thing, too, because he could not allow the most important people to think that he was a fraud.

"Yes. It's about Ambassador Rufus Bruhl." Lestrade said, nodding. John, who'd been sitting in his chair silently, looked up at that.

"Isn't he in America?" he asked.

"Not him, his kids." Lestrade said, looking away from John awkwardly as though he wanted nothing to do with him.

"They've been taken." Donovan said. "Disappeared from their school yesterday."

"Ah!" Sherlock said with a little smile. Finally, something interesting. "Alright, let's go."

Sherlock stood, and then looked over at John, who was still sitting. John was watching them with a mildly sad expression, that made Sherlock sad as well.

"Aren't you coming, John?" he asked, frowning.

"Um... No... I think I'll just stay here..." John said uncomfortably. Sherlock didn't press it, however, as he knew why John wouldn't leave the flat.

"Alright... See you later, John." Sherlock said. The trio of Sherlock, Lestrade, and Donovan walked out, leaving John by his lonesome.

* * *

Jim tapped a few keys on his laptop keyboard, and clicked on an icon that appeared, which brought up a surveillance window. He'd been so clever to install a camera at 221B, not only did he get to watch Sherlock sulk on the couch wearing only a sheet (which amused him greatly), but he got to watch the detective work, and the two tenants discuss their dilemmas. Seeing all the tension he caused made him feel highly accomplished. Now, however, all he could see was the doctor, who would not leave the house for fear of being shamed. Soon, his name would be cleared and he could walk freely. It wasn't him he wanted burned. He'd burn Sherlock before John's name was cleared, and Sherlock would die right after the doctor's name was cleared. Everything was going _perfectly_.

* * *

It was several hours later that Sherlock managed to find both the kids. He had known what to look for, knowing how the kids were, and using a combination of the footprints, and the clues that his enemy was leaving for him. Most people would've been unnerved to hear that their enemy wanted them to solve the crime, but Sherlock knew that it was part of the game. If Moriarty wanted to be the villain in Sherlock's fairy tale, Sherlock would not disappoint him.

He had to wait a few minutes to see the girl, as the boy was unconscious and in critical condition. Finally, Lestrade and Donovan walked out of the room where the girl, who was in shock, was being watched.

"Now that the professionals are done, the amateurs can go ahead and take their turn." Donovan said snidely. Lestrade gave a hand gesture to tell her to back off.

"Now, she's in shock so, just do anything you can to..." Lestrade started.

"...Not be myself?" Sherlock finished for him. Lestrade nodded, and Sherlock put his coat collar down before opening the door. He was just greeting the girl, and sitting into the chair, when she looked up at him, and started screaming. He was escorted out.

* * *

Sherlock went home after that little fiasco, and found John on his laptop, his eyes wide. He was surprised. John looked happy and relieved and all-around joyous.

"Sherlock, look!" he cried out, and shoved his laptop into Sherlock's arms. The latter gave John a quizzical look, before checking out the laptop. His eyes widened too. John had been reading a preview article for one to be published tomorrow:

**JOHN WATSON RELIEVED OF SUSPICION**

"When did you find this, John?" he cried. He was just as happy as John, despite the fact that he had quickly noticed that he himself had not been mentioned. "John, this is great!" he lied. He was not upset that John had been relieved of suspicion. He was unnerved, because he knew what it meant. He knew Moriarty's intent. John was relieved of suspicion, but the fact that the topic of _Sherlock _wasn't a fraud had been DISTINCTLY skidded over could only mean one thing: Moriarty was beginning the endgame. Sherlock was to die, and soon. Something that aided his assumption was that Donovan was now completely suspicious of him. Any normal person would be, after all, his methods were far-fetched and unbelievable to most.

"I found it just ten minutes ago!" John said jubilantly. "I read it over and over, hardly believing it! Sherlock, I'm free!" he said, and then leaned forward to hug Sherlock, who stood there awkwardly. That was when Lestrade came in. Long story short, he wanted Sherlock to come to the station, which Sherlock refused to do.

* * *

Sherlock heard, a few minutes later, police sirens. He let out a sigh. It was time. He got his coat and scarf up as he listened to the swift footsteps and protests from Mrs. Hudson. A few moments later, his hands were being cuffed together behind his back.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm arresting you on suspicion of child abduction." Lestrade said.

"It's fine John." Sherlock said as Lestrade began to push him.

"No, it's not, this is ridiculous." John said, crossing his arms.

"Don't interfere, or I shall arrest you too." Lestrade warned him, and pushed Sherlock outside.

"I did tell you." Donovan said from behind John. "Warned you the first time we met. One day, solving crimes won't be enough. One day, he'll cross the line."

"Don't..." John started.

"That our man?" came the voice of the chief superintendent.

"Yes." Donovan nodded.

"Looked a bit odd." said the chief. "They often do, these vigilante types." Donovan's eyes widened slightly, and John stared at him in seething silence. "What are you looking at?" the chief asked.

* * *

John was slammed against the police car, and the cops changed the cuffs so that John was now cuffed to Sherlock.

"Joining me?" the latter asked.

"Yes... Apparently, it's against the law to chin the chief superintendent." John replied, and Sherlock made a noise of acknowledgement. "I don't fancy the paperwork..."

"I was thinking more about our immenent and daring escape." Sherlock said. He then grabbed at a walkie-talkie that was sitting in the car, and pressed a combination of buttons that made a loud noise, and caused the cops to wince. Sherlock took the opportunity to grab the gun from the holster of the nearest cop. He then aimed it around at the cops. "Would you all please get on your knees?" he asked. He then shot twice in the air. "Now would be good!"

"Do as he says!" Lestrade said, and they all got on their knees.

"Just so you know, this is his idea, I'm just, uh... you know..." John said.

"My hostage." Sherlock said, and subtly turned the safety on and pointed the gun at John.

"Hostage! Yes, that works... What do we do now?" he asked Sherlock.

"We're doing what Moriarty wants us to do. We're going fugitive, run." he murmured, and turned and ran.


	12. Chapter 11

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 11

Moriarty Is Richard Brook

**_*I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. Follow, favorite, review. Thank you for the support, particularly from gamerchick93, and MartaBoye as well. I apologize for the distinct lack of original content. It couldn't quite be helped.*_**

Sherlock and John, while running, had met one of the killers that had been dogging them for months. They'd managed to learn that Moriarty planted, on Sherlock, a keycode, the same keycode that the consulting criminal had used to break into the Tower of London. Now, they were just trying to figure out where the latter left it.

Sherlock glanced down at a newspaper and picked it up. He knew it: There was to be an expose, tomorrow, on how Sherlock was a fraud, by Kitty Riley, who got her story from an informant. He took John with him and headed to the reporter's flat. Once they arrived, he picked the lock, letting them in.

* * *

Kitty locked the door to her car, carrying the bag of groceries she'd brought home. She then headed to her flat, going up the stairs. She pulled out a key to unlock her door, but quickly realized it wasn't needed. The door was already open. Slowly, she pushed the door open, wary of what she would find. She turned the light on and looked at the intruders.

"Too late to go on the record?" said the curly haired man in the blue scarf and long, black coat.

* * *

Kitty watched as the two men in front of her undid the cuffs. She was tempted to call the police, but that would spare her the satisfaction of telling them about her information.

"The story everyone wanted and you got it, bravo." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"I gave you a chance. I wanted to be on your side, remember? You... you turned me down..." she said in response, feeling a bit nervous and a bit guilty.

"Was it Moriarty?" Sherlock asked. "He got all that information about John from John, and aside from me, he's the only one that knows."

"Well, you told him to get the information, now didn't you, Mr. Holmes?" Kitty replied. Sherlock and John both looked taken aback.

"What? No, it was Moriarty." John butted in.

"There is no Moriarty." Kitty replied. "There never has been." A slight grin touched her lips.

"What do you mean there-" John began, but was interrupted by the door opening. There stood Moriarty, holding a bag of groceries, saying something for a moment before he noticed that Sherlock and John were there. His eyes widened in surprise and terror.

* * *

"You told me I was safe here; you told me they wouldn't find me here." Jim said to Kitty, backing against the wall without taking his eyes off of Sherlock and John.

"You _are _safe here. I'm a witness. They wouldn't harm you in front of a witness." Kitty replied anxiously, holding her hand out reassuringly, though she wasn't completely sure that the two wouldn't do so.

"He's your informant? Rich Brook is Moriarty?" John asked disbelievingly.

"Well, it's like I said." Kitty replied. "Moriarty doesn't exist. You can look him up. This is Rich Brook, an actor Sherlock paid to play Moriarty." She then turned to Sherlock. "You invented him. Invented all the crimes, too. And to cap it off, you created a master villain."

"No, he's Moriarty!" John shouted, and turned to 'Richard', pointing a livid finger. "We met, remember, you were going to blow me up!"

"He told me to. He paid me! I needed the work! Kitty, show him some proof!" Rich said, cowering away from John. "I'm an actor." he said, as Kitty gave a folder with a bunch of papers in it to John. "I'm the Storyteller. It's on DVD."

Jim then turned to Sherlock, who was looking at him with an expression Jim could easily read: "Well played." He gave the detective a nod, when the other two weren't looking.

"Sherlock, you hired me to do it." Jim said. "Just tell him. It's all coming out now. Tell him! Tell him that you hired me to almost blow him up, to burn him. Tell him!" Sherlock took a step toward him, and he cowered. "No, NO! Don't you lay a _finger _on me!"

"Stop this! Stop this _now_!" Sherlock shouted.

Jim turned and ran toward the restroom, followed by Sherlock, but he got out the window and ran. He had escaped.

* * *

"Sherlock, what are we going to do?" the detective heard his friend ask.

"We can't do anything. He's got my life story. He's bundled the lie up in the truth to make it more palatable. There's only one more thing he needs to do to complete the game, and that's-" Sherlock said, pacing back and forth, when he suddenly stopped both. It clicked. He wasn't going to see John, or 221B, again for a very long while. His life came crashing down before his eyes. He'd been planning for this, but it didn't make it any less painful.

"Sherlock, what's-?" John asked, but Sherlock cut him off.

"There's something I need to do." Sherlock said airily, and walked down the run. When he glanced back, John was walking the other way.

* * *

"You were wrong, you know." Sherlock said, when he heard Molly walk by him. "You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But... you _were _right." He then turned around to look at her. "I'm not okay."

"Tell me what's wrong." Molly said immediately.

"I think I'm going to die." Sherlock replied solemnly.

"What do you need?" she asked.

"If I wasn't everything you think I am... everything that I think I am... would you still want to help me?"

"What do you need?" she repeated.

"You." Sherlock replied. "I need your help. Operation Lazarus is about to be put in action, and I need you to help me, or it won't work."

Molly nodded. "I'll help you. Tell me what to do."

"Let me fill you in about Operation Lazarus."


	13. Chapter 12

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 12

Moriarty Reaches The End Of His Plan

Sherlock had been bouncing a ball against the wall, irately, and was sitting against a cupboard on the floor. He watched the ball bounce, and kept in his mind the part that it would play. If he messed up... No, he wouldn't mess up. He could not forget to have the ball stop his pulse. John, of course, had no idea that he'd texted Jim to meet him for the last time. John was dozing off when he got a phone call. Sherlock watched him answer, feigning a lack of interest. That was the signal. He was about to meet Moriarty, because that call was Sherlock's pre-planned way of getting John to go elsewhere.

"Mrs. Hudson has been shot." John said sorrowfully, and in disbelief.

"What? How?" Sherlock asked calmly.

"Probably one of those killers you managed to attract- Jesus... Jesus. She's dying, Sherlock, let's go."

"You go, I'm busy." Sherlock replied, and John looked livid.

"Busy?"

"Busy."

"Mrs. Hudson is dying, doesn't that mean anything to you? You once half-killed a man because he laid a finger on her."

"I need to think."

"You need to think? Mrs. Hudson is dying, you machine- You know what, sod this. Sod this. You stay here if you want, alone."

"Alone is what I have, alone protects me."

"No. Friends protect people." John said as he left. When Sherlock was sure John couldn't see, he winced. His flatmate didn't know how true those words were. Without his friends, he'd be dying shortly.

-I'm waiting. JM-

* * *

Jim was listening to Staying Alive when he heard Sherlock come out onto the rooftop and head toward him. He looked up at Sherlock, and turned off the music. He was done playing. It was time to end the game.

"I'm surprised you actually came, Sherlock. Neither of us are stupid. We both know what's going to happen here." he said to the detective, though his expression was contented, as though he wasn't bothered. However, he was, just a bit. Sherlock was probably going to die, and so was he. "It's tragic, really, it is. But I did tell you to back off, and you didn't." When Sherlock didn't say anything in reply, he continued. "Did you almost start to wonder if I was real? Did I nearly get you?" he said, his lilt quite audible.

"Rich Brook in German means Reichenbach. I'm not stupid, Jim, you said it yourself. It's just a joke. You were just having a bit of fun, choosing that name." Sherlock said in reply. Jim quickly noticed that after the detective had fallen silent, he began tapping his fingers.

"Good, you got that too. I thought you'd notice, Sherlock, you are ever so clever. You've cracked the code!" he said gleefully.

"Every beat is a one, every rest is a zero. Binary code. It's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me, inside my head, a few lines of computer code that can break any system. That was a mistake, Jim. Now that I've got the code, I can use it to alter all the records. I can _kill _Rich Brook and bring back Jim Moriarty." Sherlock replied lazily.

"No, no, no. This is to easy. _This is too easy. _There is no key, dufus! Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless. It's not what you think; a couple lines of computer codes aren't going to crash the world around our ears; I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you! Oh, _ordinary _Sherlock, that was Partita no. 3 by Johanne Sebastian Bach. I didn't need the code. Daylight robbery only takes a few willing participants. I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever, now, shall we finish the game? Glad you chose a tall building! Nice way to do it!" Jim replied, and stalked past him before turning around.

"Ah, yes. My suicide." Sherlock said, and walked to the edge of the building. Jim followed him. When the detective looked over the edge, so did he.

"That'll be a long fall, my dear. But then, I did warn you. I told you how this would end." Jim said, suppressing the glee in his voice. "Go on, now. Onto the ledge. For me? Pleeeeeease~?" he said, and then Sherlock grabbed the front of his coat and pushed him so he was leaning over the edge.

"You're insane." the detective said.

"You're just getting that now?" he said,. "Owowowo!" he said, when Sherlock pushed him a bit more over the edge.

"I told you not to lay a finger on John." Sherlock said. "This was all unnecessary. You didn't need to bring him into this. It was our game. He didn't do anything."

"Oh, I know, Sherlock. But I thought you needed a little extra incentive. You know what I can do to him. If you don't die here, he and your other friends will die."

"Lestrade? Mrs. Hudson, too?"

"Come now, Sherlock. You know I'll have them all killed in a heartbeat. Surely that's enough incentive?"

"Yes... It is..." Sherlock said, and stepped up onto the ledge.

"Your death is the only thing that will stop the killers. I'm certainly not going to." Jim said.

Sherlock looked down for a moment, thinking. After a few moments, he began to chuckle. Then, he began to laugh. He turned back to Moriarty.

"What is it?! What did I miss?!" Jim shouted.

"You're not going to do it? So the killers can be called off; there's a recall code or a word or a number. I don't have to die... if I've got you." Sherlock said, saying the last few words in a singsong voice. "And we both know that I can get you to. My brother may not have been able to get you to do anything, but I'm not him. I am you. Prepared to do anything. Prepared to _burn_. Prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. If you want to shake hands with me in hell, I shall not disappoint you."

"Nah. You talk big. Naaaah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary; you're on the side of the angels."

"I may be on the side of the angels. But don't think for one second that I am one of them."

"You're right. No. You're not ordinary. No. You're me... You're me! Thank you!" he said, and held his hand out for Sherlock to shake for the first and last time. "Bless you!" he said, and then paused. "You're right. As long as I'm around, you can save your friends. You've got a way out." A smile met his lips. "...Well good luck with that." He grinned widely, opening his mouth, and brought his gun to it, before shooting himself.


	14. Chapter 13

Moriarty's Plan

Chapter 13

Sherlock Loses The Game... Or Does He?

_***Look guys! 13. An unlucky number... Or, at least, it is for Sherlock. I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. This, my dears, is where the story ends. Or is it?***_

When Moriarty fell to the ground, bleeding profusely from a shot wound, Sherlock immediately pulled out his phone. He went to the necessary contact, and stared at it for a moment. He then sent a text.

-LAZARUS.-

He quickly got a text back.

-OPERATION LAZARUS IS GO.-

Sherlock went up onto the ledge, then, and looked over at the airbag, fully inflated, and waiting for their queue. He saw the cab pull up and the door open, revealing the very person he'd been expecting. John. By that time, he'd called John.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked, jogging toward the building.

"John, turn around and go the way you came." Sherlock said.

"What? No, I'm coming inside..." John replied.

"Just do as I ask. Please." Sherlock said forcefully. He watched as John did as he said, and walked the way he'd come.

"Sherlock-?"

"Stop and turn around. Okay, look up, I'm on the rooftop." Sherlock said.

"God... Sherlock, is everything alright?"

* * *

"Goodbye, John." Sherlock murmured, his eyes clouded with tears.

"No." John said, and took a step back. "Don't..."

Sherlock closed his eyes and tossed his phone aside. He didn't hear the buzz of the phone when he spread his arms to the side and fell. What he did notice was the airbag deflating, and John being knocked to the ground. Something had gone wrong. He hit the bag, while it was about half inflated, and fell just hard enough to the ground to knock him unconscious.

* * *

_***Oh, this was a surprise. Not at all what I expected, and much shorter than I intended. I will write the sequel, soon, and you can see what's happened to both Sherlock and Moriarty.***_


	15. Author's Notes

Moriarty's Plan

Author's Notes

It was a lot of fun writing this story. I didn't always like the criticism I got, especially the particularly rude criticism I got, but I always listened, and when I didn't change anything because of it, I had good reason to. Thank you for any constructive criticism I got, and for the support I've received. There was gamerchick98, and MartaBoye, and TheGyrhan, the latter of which caused me to reconsider a mediocre chapter title. Thanks to all.

I am going to be honest, I expected the ending to be different. But, I am the kind of writer who likes confusing people, building suspense, and generally overwhelming my readers with feels. That inspired the change, in the end. Since the ending changed at the very last minute, I'll tell you what was supposed to happen. John was supposed to be reconnected to Sherlock, and locked in prison until Sherlock returned. Sherlock was supposed to fall as usual. Jim's ending went as planned.

I promised you all a sequel, and I did not fall back on that promise. I have published the first chapter of the sequel, dubbed "IOU A Recovery, Sherlock". I shall try to update frequently, but if I don't, it is because I am so busy. Anyway, I look forward to some of you going to read the sequel. I shall try to make it gripping, perhaps moreso than this one was.

-SH221B


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